


I am yours

by jessicaannsavage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Death, F/M, Loss, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicaannsavage/pseuds/jessicaannsavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warden is frantic and faint, searching for her Antivan Crow in the after math of a particularly nasty battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am yours

**Author's Note:**

> i made this a while ago, but never had the brass to post it. technically speaking, this was my first fanfiction. i hope you guys enjoy it.

“The Antivan Crows send their regards.”

The words echoed in her mind as she swam through the murky fog, searching for it’s origin. Reaching out into the grey, desperately probing the swirling mists for the consciousness that evaded her. Soft words with a rolling accent flitted around her and she snatched at them, hoping they would pull her out of her daze and cradle her in the warmth and life she craved. Her numb fingers graced them as they raced past her, flooding her with warmth.

“For you? Of course.” 

The winding words with their rolling and looping cadence, the familiar lilt like ornate cursive on parchment, entwined around her, breathing life into her and painting her blank mind with vivid colors and soft pastels. Cream hair and toffee skin, glistening dark eyes and sharp grin, and a thick molasses chuckle that filled her ears and flipped her stomach. 

Musty air rushed to fill her lungs, renewing her with a fierce purpose. Her eyes bore into the dust, looking for familiar shadows as she struggled to focus on her task. Her head spun as she fought to reclaim her senses, to remember her purpose, to remember what happened.

Aching arms shoved her onto her feet, and a blazing fire erupted from her side, thrusting her back on to her knees. 

“Yes, my warden?”

With shaking legs she stumbled to her feet, searching the dust for the tan elf that went running straight into the horde. Eyes shifting through the settling chaos she searched frantically for a sign, for anyone. Broad shoulders emerged from the ashes, rising stiffly, a tall slender witch behind it. Arm wrapped tightly around her dripping side, she staggered to it, crashing numbly into the splint mail of her fellow Grey Warden. 

 

“Are you hurt?” she managed to huff, her hands catching his arms. 

“No, I’m fine. Wynn healed me before- before whatever that was. Are you? What happened?”

She dodged his questions, her only concern being her companions, her faithful friends. Loyal to the end. 

“Find Wynn. Help her look for the others. I have to find Zevran.” Her words threatened to betray her fear as she squeezed onto him. He only nodded before pulling her to him, whispering a quivering reassurance. A gentle squeeze and they set off in different directions, her foot falls clumsy and disoriented. 

The looming cloud grew darker the farther she stumbled in, and her sight failed her. Arms reaching for familiarity, she cupped the face of each fallen body she tripped over. Trembling fingers searched for soft, pointed ears.

Those elegant, sharp ears that quivered in the cold of the Frostback Mountains. Those quivering ears that she so gently caressed, coaxing warmth into them and a soft hum from Zevran. Her Antivan Crow, homesick for his warm home sands, shivering and numb. Her trembling assassin, whom she had taken off her hood for and wrapped around him, and as she pulled the hood over his blond locks, she fought the urge to muffle his protests and warm his chapped lips. 

She tumbled in her panic, the pain in her side paling in comparison to the ache in her chest. Regret stung her eyes from all those nights spent sitting idle by the campfire, admiring the way the light danced across his sharp features, and doing nothing to settle the turning in her stomach, to extinguish the fire in her chest. Or stoke it, as it were. 

Her once calm and calculated demeanor dissolved into a wheezing flurry, her head reeling from the loss of blood. The more frantic she became, the more labored her breathing became. Though her legs threatened to fail her, she pushed herself forward, nearly crawling on her bloodied hands. 

 

Between the pants and gasps she called out to him, her voice cracking as her shriek rippled through the air. The silence that followed her cries was suffocating, the dread settling in her chest and crushing her. Hot tears flowed freely down her face. 

With each passing moment her fears came alive, sucking the life and breath out of her, draining the warmth from her body and freezing her blood. Her boot caught something heavy and as her shoulder connected with the ground, she made out a gleaming Antivan dagger. 

The strength that she had lost in her mad scramble was renewed as she crawled forward, her eyes tracing the silhouette of a crumbled elf. Tears splattered across his smudged face as her fingers caressed those perfect ears. 

Cold as they were, she prayed to the Maker that he was still alive, that there was still something left to save. She pressed against him, listening for what precious life he may still have. 

“Zev” she breathed, clinging to him in the hopes that the closer she got to him, the harder it would be for them to sink into the Fade. Hoping she could anchor him to this world. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it to bring out any sign of existence. Her forehead rested on his as she pleaded with the Make to take her instead. The soft strands roped around her fingers, like they had just days before. 

Just days before, in the comfort of the early morning light. She hummed, her nimble fingers tucking lock after lock around one another, the smell of sweet wine and fine leather filling her lungs. She longed to be back in that moment; the heat of Zevran’s bare back enticing her to lay soft kisses along his shoulders, the sound of his hums tangling with hers lulling her drooping eyelids to shut.

But the warmth and content of that peaceful morning was gone Leveled by cold, unforgiving despair. She recalled the emptiness in his voice when he told her that he came to Ferelden because he wished to die by her blade, and now that same emptiness filled her, pulling her closer to the folds of the Fade. 

“Please” she breathed into his ear, “Please, Zevran.”

The sound of heavy splint mail boots jingled behind her as her trembling lips graced his skin, and she didn’t care whether or not they were her loyal companions or Darkspawn. If she met her death cradling her lifeless assassin in her arms, so be it; her grave injuries would claim her soon anyway. 

And as the billowing threads of the fade whirled around her and drug her under, she heard the cracked but ever looping cadence, soft and tender.

“I am yours.”


End file.
